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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24622618">Overflowing With Pearl</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencebutch/pseuds/sciencebutch'>sciencebutch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Live Kennedy Universe, Angst, Archie and Horatio are stranded on a desert island, Desert Island Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tenderness, Warnings May Change, and William Bush is a merman, mermaid au, takes place between Retribution and Loyalty, the grumpy one(s) fall in love with the sunshine one, this fic is horribly self indulgent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:41:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,868</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24622618</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencebutch/pseuds/sciencebutch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Horatio Hornblower wakes to find himself washed up on a desert island with his first lieutenant and a merman.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>William Bush/Horatio Hornblower/Archie Kennedy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Inure</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/6464764">Gold Beneath the Sea</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey">athena_crikey</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>wow can you believe im fucking writing about the british navy of all things. quarantine really fucks you up</p><p>this is HEAVILY inspired by gold beneath the sea, because i read it and could not stop thinking about it. go read it right now and dont read this.</p><p>(&amp; ok so the island archie and horatio end up on is somewhere in the caribbean. idk where in particular, but im trying to keep the flora and fauna as accurate to the location as possible even though it varies between islands. SO. there you go.)</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>inure (v.) - accustom (someone) to something, especially something unpleasant.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Horatio Hornblower wakes up and finds himself immediately wishing that he hadn’t. His skin and hair are greasy with salt, his lips are chapped, and his forehead had that conspicuous tightness and heat that indicated sunburn. While being a captain in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, and as such being quite used to these sensations, it is rather easy to want for their absence - especially when one has just woken up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His throat stings when he swallows, and Hornblower discovers that he’s also very thirsty. Grimacing, he smacks his lips, scrunching his eyes against the brightness that is hardly deterred by his eyelids -</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hornblower freezes, his expression halfway between the contented look of one having just woken up and discomfort. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Brightness?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Had he somehow drifted off on deck? Had he been on watch? Good God, why has no one woken him yet?! He shifts, moves his hand to feel about him, and discovers that he’s not on a boat at all, for the texture of wood does not greet his fingertips. Rather, sand grates and sticks to his palm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This isn’t the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Retribution</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His ears finally register the fact that the sound of the sea is not the constant drone of it lapping against the hull of a sloop, but rather that of waves crashing against a sandy shore. Hornblower opens his eyes and sits up, all hints of sleep evacuating his body. He had learned rather early on in his career in the Navy how to not drift into alertness, but jump into it.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An infinite expanse of blue greeted him, seafoam and clouds meshing to form a disorienting tableau that made him question whether he was upside down or right-side up. Hornblower squints and rubs at his eyes, and when he reopens them, he’s aboard the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Retribution</span>
  </em>
  <span>, her sails being buffeted by wind and her men being buffeted by waves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hornblower recalls the storm, the angry clouds spitting lightning and shouting thunder, and the way the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Retribution</span>
  </em>
  <span> swayed unsteadily, like a babe taking its first steps. Hornblower recalls the ocean heaving in such a way that his feet had lost their steadiness - how he was sent sprawling on deck - how the momentum of his fall and the momentum of the tide rocked him right off the side - how the churning waves rose to greet and engulf him - </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been night, so the waters were dark as pitch, as black and endless as a starless sky, and Hornblower had been so ensnared in the chaotic current that he might as well have had considered himself drowned already. But then, Horatio remembers, something quite strange occurred. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was such a fantastical notion he almost dismisses the memory outright, chalks it up to his suffocated mind weaving spectres out of the swirling sea. But he could’ve sworn - </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, he could’ve sworn he had seen a flash of silver in the darkness, as if the moonlight had been caught on some shoals. And he could’ve sworn he had seen two pinpricks of white gazing at him from the depths, reflecting light like a rat’s eyes did when one shone their lantern at one. And then he could’ve sworn he felt hands, sturdy human hands, grasping his arm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels foolish for just thinking of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The memory ended there, for what followed was the present: Hornblower waking up on a beach, sweat and salt and sand encrusted in the seams of his jacket, with not a smidgen of an idea as to where he was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Horatio is alerted to the creature’s presence when he hears a strangled gasp to his right, his head snapping in the direction of the noise. He doesn’t quite believe his eyes, and he wonders for a moment if his mind was still playing tricks on him, for there, washed up on the sand, is a spectacle borne of fantasy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s seen depictions of the merfolk, but they had been shoddy renderings of the real thing</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>In art, merfolk appeared as beings with the torso of a man stuck on the tail of a fish, with no gradient between the two portions. The sight before Hornblower told a different story. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Indeed, the creature was, for all intents and purposes, an amalgamation of human and fish, but there was hardly as staunch a difference between the parts. No, the merman - Horatio believed it was a man, for his shoulders were broad, and his hips lacked the distinct curvature of a woman - was built in a way much more suited to reality. He was lying on his side, facing away from Horatio, but he could still observe the pale flesh fading and melding into the silvery scales of his tail. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hornblower stumbles to his feet, his legs unused to being on solid ground. With every ounce of trepidation afforded to him, he sneaks closer, academic curiosity getting the better of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The merman has long hair that, despite its dampness, is beginning to curl. It’s a light brown, a dirty blond, like the color of sandalwood. Smatterings of small scales travel from the base of his skull down to his lower back, glistening in the sun like diamonds embedded in stone. At around what, Horatio assumes, would be the hips of an ordinary man, the scales grow thicker, larger, and colonize the entirety of his flesh. From these scales sprout a piscine tail that’s about a fathom in length, muscular and sturdy. Towards the end it tapers off, narrows, and then spreads out into a quite sizable caudal fin. Gray cartilaginous barbs sprout from the merman’s spine, a thin membrane spread between them. The structure strongly resembles the dorsal fin of an ordinary fish, and probably functions in much the same way. It’s currently limp, but as Horatio gets closer he can see it tremble somewhat. In fact, he could see the entire being of him shake, as if he were strained. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Horatio tentatively reaches out a hand. The merman’s skin feels decidedly </span>
  <em>
    <span>human</span>
  </em>
  <span> in his grip, shocking him in its familiarness. He flinches in shock as Horatio touches him and turns resolutely into the sand, hiding his face. The rasping noise that had brought Hornblower’s attention to it in the first place gets worse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Err,” Horatio drones awkwardly, unsure of what to say. “Hello.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The merman shakes his head minutely, and Hornblower frowns. “Are you quite alright?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” comes the muffled response. His voice sounds as if he’s speaking through a sieve - it’s quiet, tense, and also startlingly familiar. There’s an element of it that reminds Horatio of someone, though he can’t think of who exactly it reminded him </span>
  <em>
    <span>of</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Horatio cocks his head in puzzlement. “You speak English?” He asks, despite the obvious answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The creature seizes, his muscles going taut. “Obviously,” he manages. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’a a beat of silence broken solely by the ugly rasping emanating from the merman in front of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“With all due respect...hmm,” Horatio stutters, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>sir</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but you really don’t appear all that well.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he insists. As he does so his webbed fingers form fists in the sand, and the rasping sound begins increasing in tempo. Horatio suspects that such a noise comes from the merman trying to breathe on land. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hornblower’s consternation possesses him, and his arms move of their own autonomy to grab the creature’s bicep, intending to turn him supine. Once his hand touches skin, the merman jumps, flails until he wrenches himself out of Horatio’s grip. Horatio flinches, his nerves sending him stumbling back as if he’d been burned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t touch me!” the merman shouts, and that niggling familiarity starts wriggling in Horatio’s mind again, twisting and pestering like a maggot. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> that shout. He’s heard it before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His outburst seemed to have made his current condition worsen, for the merman begins to choke, and Horatio grasps his shoulder and forces him onto his back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Horatio blinks at the face before him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Horatio stares at the face before him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can’t quite believe the face he sees before him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mister Bush?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he says incredulously, his heart hammering in his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>William Bush forces out two more words before a fit of coughing overtakes him: “The sea,” he says, and Hornblower understands immediately.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Getting Bush to the water was quite a graceless feat that left Horatio breathless after. It was rare that an officer ever had to do any heavy lifting - usually such a task was left to the crew - and Horatio’s physique could hardly be described as muscular on a good day. Suffice to say dragging Bush the distance from the beach to the ocean was a task that left him wholly exhausted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hornblower unceremoniously drops Bush into the surf and splashes right in after him, sitting somewhat cross-legged in the shallow water. Bush surfaces, his long hair fanning out behind him, and Horatio notices that on either side of the man’s neck are three deep grooves that flutter open and closed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps they are what allow him to breathe underwater,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bush begins to raise a hand, somewhat self consciously, to his neck. It hovers there for a beat, before lowering back to his side. Horatio realizes belatedly that he had been staring. He clears his throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is an urge, within him, as pervasive as a drumbeat, that desperately wants to ask Bush ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>how?</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ How did the first lieutenant of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Renown</span>
  </em>
  <span> end up like this? How had a man - able to walk on land and live at sea - become a creature cursed to only inhabit the dark depths of the world’s oceans? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How had Bush survived drowning all those years ago? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A particular sensation grows in strength within Hornblower, overshadowing the cacophony of emotions already pounding in his chest: the feeling is relief, he realizes, relief that Mister Bush had not perished in the sinking jolly boat, weighed down by an anchor that he could not lift. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite his current situation, Horatio feels a sense of </span>
  <em>
    <span>lightness</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as the guilt that had resulted in him not jumping after Bush had not, as he previously thought, killed the man. It makes him almost giddy to see him alive - and not just because it was a balm on his conscience, but because Horatio had actually been </span>
  <em>
    <span>fond</span>
  </em>
  <span> of William Bush, regardless of the man’s stiffness and severity. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There had been a passion in him, a loyalty in him, a willingness to do whatever must be done, regardless of the cost. Horatio had believed that the latter trait had ultimately brought him to his doom, but apparently, that had not been the case. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>He is brought out of his thoughts when Bush turns in the water, as smooth as a knife slicing through tallow, in an apparent motion to leave. Horatio reaches out, a “Wait!” escaping him. Bush pauses, before hesitantly turning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where are we?” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bush’s eyes look flash downward. “I’m not sure,” he admits, “It was difficult to swim with both of you...this was the first piece of land I managed to locate in the storm.” Bush had never been a wordsmith, but now he spoke as if each word were laborious. Horatio wonders if this is the first conversation he’s had since he disappeared two years ago. His soul hurts from the thought of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His soul hurts for other reasons as well, for the news Bush spoke of was disheartening, to say the least. “Well, thank you, Mister Bush, I--” Horatio recounts Bush’s sentence, and he gets stuck on one word in particular. “Hold on,” says he, “‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Both</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ of us?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bush cocks his head slightly to one side. “Mister Kennedy--” was all that he managed to say before Horatio was rushing back to shore, his eyes spotting the unconscious form of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Retribution’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> first lieutenant, and Hornblower’s dearest friend. How had he not noticed him when he woke up?!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Archie!” he shouts, gracelessly dashing through pale white sand. He slides to his knees at his friend’s side, breathless from panic. “Archie!” he repeats. He bends over close to Archie’s face, their noses almost touching, his hands gripping the lapels of Archie’s jacket. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Archie stirs, the movement hardly perceptible. and moans faintly. “Archie,” Horatio sighs, the relief palpable in the name. Horatio tentatively raises a hand to Archie’s cheek, his fingers barely touching the stubble there.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Ratio?” Archie’s voice is gravelly and gruff, and he coughs the salt and thirst from his throat. Hornblower sits up, and Archie scrunches his eyes, his face now exposed to the harsh glare of the sun. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Archie, it’s me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Archie sits up, rubbing his forehead. “I have a beast of a headache, Horatio,” he says, wincing, “What happened?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There was a storm, remember? I - well, I lost my footing and fell overboard,” he confesses, as if he were admitting to a heinous crime. “And you…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I jumped in after you,” Archie finishes. Horatio frowns.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t have, Archie!” he reprimands, “You had a duty to the ship as first lieutenant!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Archie smiles tenderly. “I have a duty to you even more so.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Horatio swallows with much difficulty, for it felt as if his heart had leapt into his throat. “Archie…” he attempts to meet the man’s eyes, but they feel too piercing, too perceptive, as if they could see inside his beating heart and read the contents there, the feelings there. The love there. Horatio looks away. “Why? The chance of you finding me... of you surviving…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Was a chance I was willing to take.” Archie says, his voice so fond that Horatio’s breath hitches. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If the sun hadn’t branded its place on his skin already, Horatio’s face would’ve become entirely red from blushing. He thinks it’s the first time he’s ever been grateful for a sunburn. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where are we, Horatio?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure, Archie,” Horatio says, looking to the surf. His heart sinks to see that Bush had gone, and it sinks further as he wonders if he had ever really been there in the first place - if he had simply been some figment his dehydrated mind had manifested. “Somewhere in the tropics,” he guesses lamely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I gathered as much,” Archie says, looking around. Indeed, they were in the tropics, for the air was hot and heavy and humid, and the fauna bright and exotic, much like the plants in Jamaica had been. Horatio recognized a few of them: the orchids and patches of aloe were rather distinct. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Archie moves to stand, his legs shaky as a newborn fawn’s. He almost collapses, but Horatio catches him, moving his shoulders under Archie’s arm to support his weight. Archie smiles at him with gratitude. “So, Captain Hornblower,” says he, eyes twinkling, “What’s first on the agenda?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Horatio huffs, exasperated, but still thankful for Archie’s good humor. “Well, Lieutenant Kennedy,” he responds, trying to maintain the faux seriousness his friend had imparted and not let any hints of mirth tinge his words. “I suppose we should explore, find sources of water and food, build a shelter to keep the sun off us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thought of William Bush plagued him less and less as the day went on and as the memory grew in age. The very notion that a fellow officer had risen from the dead as a merman was laughably fictitional, and Horatio found himself embarrassed that he had even believed it had been reality. No - it had just been an incredibly strange dream. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The pair of them left their wool jackets where the sand met soil, just past a clump of shrubbery that preceded the untamed wild of orchid vines and other miscellaneous greenery. Trees grew there, branchless trunks towering high into the firmament.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“These look like pawpaw trees,” Archie comments, running a hand over its bark. Horatio examines the fruit that had fallen. The skin was a bright yellow, so ripe that he just had to press his thumb in to puncture through it. He tears into it, careless of the juice that spills on his hands, and sees a deep orange flesh surrounding seeds like capers, nestled in the middle.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m quite sure they are, Archie!” Horatio exclaims, a slight smile on his face. Hope unfurls in his sternum - they could survive here. There were plenty of these trees, plenty of shed fruit laying forgotten on the ground... </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yes, they could survive here indeed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hornblower’s grin fades. His eyebrows furrow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s wonderful, Horatio!” Archie says, turning round to face him. Upon seeing the pensive expression on his friend’s face, his own turns more sullen. “Horatio?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We need to get back,” Horatio says. “I have a duty to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Retribution </span>
  </em>
  <span>as her captain, Archie. The crew, I...I…” his breathing quickens, and his words fade from the world. Archie can still see them running though his mind though, all those panicked overthinking thoughts whistling past in his eyes. He takes the split papaya from Horatio’s trembling hands, scooping out the soft flesh with his fingers. Pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, he puts it up to Horatio’s lips. Horatio mechanically opens his mouth and chews it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get back we shall, Horatio,” Archie says soothingly, “But first, we must focus on one thing at a time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Birds sang overhead, their calls so unlike the screeching of the flocks of gulls he’s used to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Horatio says slowly, swallowing and coming back to himself, “Yes, you’re right.” He bows his head, ashamed. “My apologies, Archie, it is not befitting of a captain to lose himself as I did.” It has been a while since Horatio had become so anxious. Commandeering a ship or fighting against an enemy, that he could do in a state of utter tranquility - but this? This was something quite unprecedented, and he questioned his ability to cope with it. How could he cope with the shame of abandoning his crew? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Neither is it befitting of a first lieutenant to lose himself, yet I do it all the time.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Archie…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t different, Horatio, though it is quite obvious you’re thinking it is,” Archie snaps, before softening. He is well aware of the lofty standards his friend holds himself to, and he has known for a while that he would do anything to remove any guilt, any self-flagellation that results from them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Archie reaches out to give Horatio a comforting pat on the shoulder, but his hand strays from its intended path, and ultimately ends up touching the dip between Horatio’s neck and clavicle. Horatio ducks his head, smiling softly, taking Archie’s hand in his. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is meant as a grounding touch, one to bring him back to the reality of pawpaw trees and sandy beaches, but Horatio discovers that he is less grounded than ever with his fingers clutching Archie’s. He feels weightless, like he’s floating, tethered only to this realm by the man adjacent to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Archie,” he says kindly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Archie smiles in response, and just like what happens every time before, Horatio’s heart skips when he sees it. He wonders how a man can shine so bright. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They trek the circumference of the island - a venture that takes less than an hour - and discover a small tidepool, a crescent shape cut into the coastline. It is surrounded by a wall of rock, protecting the inhabitants contained within from the choppy surf. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We could find shellfish in here</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Horatio says, though the only thing visible in the water are sea anemones and urchins. Archie points out a small vibrant fish, whose scales seem to contain the entire spectrum, and together they crouch to observe it, both with a small smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Afterwards, they march inland, winding their way through tangled vines and cactus plants to find a lush copse of trees, at the center of which rests a pillar of stone. Emerging from it - as if Moses himself had tapped it - is a spring of freshwater, trickling into a small pond. They drink deeply, desperately, and splash it onto their faces and clothes. It is nice, Horatio thinks, to not be coated in a greasy residue of salt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We should set up camp on the beach,” Horatio says. Archie is laying in the shallow pool of freshwater, his face the picture of bliss. His hair is free of its queue, and it radiates around his head in golden strands like sun rays.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of Archie’s eyes opens to peer at him. “Why not here?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because,” Horatio says, “We need to be visible if any ships pass by.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It will be quite inconvenient to walk all this way for water, Horatio,” Archie points out, and Horatio frowns, thinking, before his eyes light up with an idea. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Unless…” Horatio remarks pointedly, pulling up a clump of dirt and holding it out. Archie quirks an eyebrow. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Clay</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Archie,” he says, “We can mold it into bowls to hold water.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They end up making camp on the beach, as Horatio had suggested, and they litter the sand around them with still-wet pinch-pots to dry in the sun. Their shelter is a pitiful lean-to constructed of fallen pawpaw fronds and sticks, and they eat an unsatisfying dinner of overripe papaya. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next morning, Horatio wakes up, and as he rubs the sand from his eyes, he is surprised to see a familiar head in the distance, poking out of the waves. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Aurora</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>aurora (n.) - dawn</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is short. for that i apologize.</p><p>also youve probably noticed i changed the title and summary. this is because i wrote them in haste to publish this and i hated them. hopefully these will stick. who's to say</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>At first, Horatio wonders if he’s dreaming; if the ghost of William Bush had once again come to haunt him as much as the others who have died alongside him have. It has happened before, and he’s often gone nights without sleeping for fear of such nightmares. Perhaps yesterday’s hallucination had spawned more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he tells himself,</span>
  <em>
    <span> it’s too real</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Surely, if he weren’t in reality, his brain would not conjure up the sensation of sand, embedded in every pore and in every stitch of fabric he wore. Surely he would not be feeling the pounding headache from dehydration, the heat of a sunburn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quietly, without waking Archie, Hornblower leaves their lean-to and walks into the sea, trying his hardest to avoid stepping on budding coral or urchins. He’d heard stories of sailors with broken-off barbs from sea urchins stuck in their hands for weeks, or red rashes developing around the skin that had come in contact with coral. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bush is not quite in the sea proper, having come forward into the surf a bit to meet Horatio. It isn’t deep enough for him to swim completely vertically, his tail longer than an average man is tall, so he leans forward at a shallow angle, his arms treading water to keep him above the surface. The fin attached to Bush’s spine is lopsided, and flails uselessly to and fro as Bush paddles gracelessly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Horatio had never excelled at conversation, but he found himself especially at a loss for words right now - how do you speak to someone you thought was dead, who was now a being of fiction and myth? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, Mister Bush,” he says after a pause, and decides that he finds that an adequate enough greeting. Bush acknowledges it with a small nod, not quite meeting his eyes. His entire physiognomy has changed rather, Horatio observes. Instead of the confident stoicism he had once maintained, his face had adopted something of a discontented frown, his gaze downcast. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I find no need to stand on ceremony in these circumstances, Mister Hornblower,” Bush says dully, his words lacking the luster they had had on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Renown.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Please, call me William.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright...William,” Horatio acquiesces, feeling the name upon his lips for the first time. “In that case, you may call me Horatio.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>William nods once more, and together, wordlessly, they walk back to shallower water.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They seat themselves together on the shore, where the tide manages to come no higher than their stomachs. The two are far enough apart that, were the current to push them around, their arms would not accidentally brush together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you need to be under water?” Hornblower asks Bush. “To, er,” Hornblower stiffly raises a palm to his neck, gesturing to the same area where Bush’s gills are. “Breathe.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bush jerks his head away from facing Hornblower then, as if ashamed, to stare at the horizon. Horatio turns to look as well, finding himself wishing that he had not posed the question at all. The sky is still in the throes of another sunrise, blistered by scarlet clouds slicing the air like wounds. A tense moment of silence hangs heavy as mist between them, broken only by the lapping of the surf at their abdomens.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Bush says at last. “I do not.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The image of Bush shuddering and coughing and choking on the shore is conjured in Hornblower’s mind, and he opens his mouth to ask about it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can subsist on air for a few hours,” Bush explains, as if he were privy to Hornblower’s thoughts. Horatio nods, his lips forming a wordless “</span>
  <em>
    <span>ah</span>
  </em>
  <span>”. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>William’s tail waves elegantly with the tide, its scales catching the nascent sun’s rays through the water, and Horatio realizes that they aren’t completely silver at all, as he had previously thought. There are undertones of grayish blue, he sees, the hue much the same shade as his eyes. It’s quite mesmerizing, and Horatio finds himself rather unable to look away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wants to ask Bush about it. He wants to ask Bush about everything. But he has the tact to see when one does not want to speak, and he’s sure that William will offer an explanation when he is up for it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So for now, they sit in an almost-companionable quiet, and watch the rising sun.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bush licks his lips. “I am sorry,” he says, still unable to meet Horatio’s eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Horatio frowns, a slight smile of confusion tinges his lips. He tilts his head and looks towards Bush. “Whatever for?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stranding you here. I meant only to save your lives, I assure you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And save us you did, William.” Upon seeing the apprehensive look on the other man’s face, he continues, intending to reassure Bush’s conscience. He speaks warmly, despite his internal vitriol at being absent from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Retribution </span>
  </em>
  <span>for any unplanned stretch of time. “It is not so bad here - there is food, fresh water further inland. Plenty of resources for shelter. Mister Kennedy and I shall survive until we manage our escape.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hornblower amiably claps Bush on his shoulder, a gesture meant to be comforting. Despite Horatio’s intent, Bush jumps like a startled cat at the touch. Embarrassed at such a display, he clenches his jaw, and Horatio can see a muscle pull taut in his neck. Horatio retracts his hand, and it hovers there above William’s skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“William,” he starts, “I…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There is not much companionship to be offered in the ocean,” Bush utters as an explanation, his voice thin, quiet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It is not something I can even begin to understand,” Horatio says, and he means it. The sea has given him nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>but </span>
  </em>
  <span>company and camaraderie; there is not a moment of solitude aboard any of the Navy’s ships, despite how much he may long for it at times. Hornblower realizes just how </span>
  <em>
    <span>lonely</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bush must be, then. For there to be no one to converse with for two years, why, the very notion sounds hellish. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He replaces his hand on Bush’s shoulder gently. Rather than flinching away, he pushes into the touch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m rather surprised my voice still works,” William whispers. Horatio has to strain to hear him. “After all this time of disuse.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why, of course it still works, man - I’m sure it has relished the break you’ve given it after the years you’ve spent yelling yourself hoarse,” He says in jest. Bush provides no smile. Instead, he looks more melancholy than ever. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I miss it,” he says. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hornblower nods, finding himself at a loss for words. He would miss it too, were he in Bush’s situation. He would miss it more than anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun has risen over the horizon now, and its heat has banished away the clouds the dawn had offered. Over the gentle low tide of morning, Hornblower hears a shout: </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Horatio?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” It’s Archie’s voice, coming from over the dune, still muddled with sleep. Horatio can discern worry there as well. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Horatio!?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Over here, Archie!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bush moves to leave then, his eyes alight with fear as he maneuvers himself in preparation to dive and disappear into the surf. Horatio grabs his bicep reflexively. “William?” he asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I--” he says, his gaze darting between him and the crest of the dune, where they can hear Archie shuffling through the sand and into sight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Horatio,” Archie says, his voice light and slightly admonishing, “What are you doing--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Upon seeing the pair of them, he freezes, frowns, cocks his head. A great many emotions pass over his face, until it settles on an expression of absolute stupefaction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Horatio,” he says slowly, “I am awake, aren’t I?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Horatio rolls his eyes and suppresses a smile that threatens the side of his mouth. “Yes, Archie, you are indeed awake.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>William’s arm relaxes in Horatio’s grip, the man having come to terms with the fact that he will be seen by one more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, in that case, good morning Mister Bush. I must say it is quite a surprise to see you.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>fire coral and long spined sea urchins will fuck you up. u can't remove the urchin spines from ur skin you gotta wait for them to dissolve</p><p>listen i didnt spend an entire semester taking a caribbean ecology class for nothing. just be glad i didnt include a slippery dick wrasse ok</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>follow me on <a href="https://eightdoctor.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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